Chapter 3 Chapter three
~DOES IT GET BETTER?~
AMELIA'S POV
I couldn't bring myself to touch my food until Draven finally joined me. The dining room remained quiet as we ate. Or rather, he ate, while I barely managed a few bites. The silence between us was becoming unbearable.
"Draven?" I called softly.
He looked up from his plate, taking a sip of water.
"Can I ask you something?"
He gave a small nod. I hesitated, already regretting the question.
"Do I... seem different lately?" I asked quietly. "I've been eating more. Maybe I've gained weight."
The words were humiliating to say out loud, yet he was my husband. If there was something about me that no longer attracted him, I wanted to know. Perhaps I could fix it. Or maybe it was beyond repair.
He rested both forearms on the table and stared at me. “Really?" he asked flatly.
I nodded. “You're my husband. If there's something you don't like about me... or something you think I should improve, I'd rather hear it from you."
A scoff escaped his lips. “You want the truth?"
"Yes,” I answered.
He leaned back in his chair. "You're only twenty years old, Amelia," he said without a hint of emotion. "You're still young." He paused before adding, "So stop acting like you're forty."
I frowned, unable to understand. “I don't get it."
"You act too mature." His eyes met mine. "And you're desperate for attention; it’s annoying."
The word ‘desperate’ hit me like a slap. That was how my own husband saw me, not loving, not caring, nor devoted, just desperate. The lump in my throat became impossible to swallow.
Without another word, I pushed back my chair and walked away from the table. I climbed the stairs as quickly as I could before the tears escaped.
The moment I reached our bedroom, I crawled beneath the covers and buried my face in the pillow. The tears came instantly, and no matter how hard I tried to stop them, they wouldn't.
Several minutes later, I heard the bedroom door open. The mattress dipped beneath his weight, and then his arm slipped around my waist from behind. For one brief, foolish second, I thought he had come to comfort me.
"You asked me to be honest," he said calmly.
"So I was." His voice held no guilt. “And now you're upset." He let out a quiet sigh.
"I guess I just won't be honest next time."
My heart hurt. That was all he had to say. He offered no apology and no indication that he regretted the pain he caused, just another reminder of why my feelings were inconvenient.
I kept my back to him, refusing to let him see me cry. A few seconds later, I heard the familiar sound of his phone unlocking. He had already moved on, while I lay there silently soaking my pillow, wondering why the man I loved found it so easy to shatter my spirit.
The pounding in my head woke me before my alarm. I groaned, pressing a hand against my forehead. I had cried myself to sleep, and no wonder my head felt like it was splitting apart. I rolled over, reaching for the other side of the bed, but it was cold. Draven was already gone.
I dragged myself out of bed and slipped on my slippers. As I walked toward the bedroom door, faint voices drifted up from downstairs.
One of them was Draven's, and the other belonged to a woman. I frowned, wondering who could possibly be here this early. Curiosity got the better of me, so I walked toward the sound, the voices growing clearer with every step. Then I froze.
Standing in the foyer, Draven was wrapped in the arms of a beautiful young woman with long blonde hair, and he was hugging her back. My heart clenched, and I stood there, unable to move. A second later, Draven pulled away from the embrace, and his eyes landed on me.
For a brief moment, silence filled the room.
I looked from him to the woman, waiting.
Waiting for an explanation.
"Amelia," Draven began, clearing his throat. "Meet Sophia..." He hesitated. “…my cousin."
He slipped one hand into his pocket before continuing. “She just got a job here in Boston, and she'll be staying with us until she finds her own place."
The words barely registered. Living with us? There was no phone call, no warning, nothing. Sophia smiled warmly and stepped toward me.
"Hi, Amelia. It's so nice to finally meet you."
She extended her hand for a handshake.
I didn't take it. Instead, I looked straight at Draven, but he avoided my eyes. That hurt more than anything. Without saying a single word, I turned around and walked back upstairs.
"Amelia—" he called out.
I ignored him, reached our bedroom, closed the door behind me, and leaned against it. My breathing grew ragged as I paced the floor, struggling to make sense of the situation.
A stranger had just walked into our home, and my husband had unilaterally decided she would live with us, leaving me as the last person to know. Was this what marriage meant to him? Making decisions alone while expecting me to simply accept them?
A few minutes later, the bedroom door opened. Draven walked in and closed it behind him.
"What was that about?" he asked.
I turned to face him, my frustration finally boiling over. “What was that about?" I repeated. "You brought another woman into our home, and you didn't think I deserved to know first?"
He rubbed a hand across his mouth as though I were exhausting him. “That was what I wanted to tell you last night." He shrugged. “But you ruined the mood during dinner, so I couldn't."
I stared at him in disbelief. “You can't be serious." I let out a bitter laugh. “You're unbelievable, Draven."
My voice trembled despite my efforts to stay calm. “You were going to tell me last night that she'd be moving in this morning?"
He remained silent.
"You know..." I whispered. "Sometimes you make me feel like I begged you to marry me, but remember that I didn’t.”
His expression hardened. “You're too dramatic." That sentence sliced through me. “She's my cousin," he continued. "And as my wife, the least you could've done was return her greeting politely."
